"Farewell!" cried Jack, breaking from them, and rushing down the street. " "Traitor!" cried Sir Rowland—"damned—double-dyed traitor!" "Away with him," vociferated Jonathan to his myrmidons, who, having surrounded Trenchard, hurried him off to the coach before he could utter another word,—"first to Mr. The blouse dried nicely, it would only need a touch of starch and a little ironing.
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